Each month when we put together India Empire, I am reminded of how vast and varied the Indian story truly is. It spans skyscrapers and villages, parliaments and pilgrim sites, global boardrooms and small family homes. And perhaps most poignantly, it spans continents, carried in the lives of the Indian diaspora. This September, as we mark another Independence Day, I find myself reflecting not only on where India is headed but also on the quiet burdens our diaspora carries—sometimes in unexpected places.

One of the pieces in this issue that has struck a chord is about something seemingly trivial: the skin-tone choices offered on digital emojis. A simple folded hand, a wave, or a thumbs-up was never designed to be an existential question. Yet today, for Indians abroad, the act of sending an emoji can turn into a subtle test of identity. Which shade of brown, wheatish, or black represents “me”? And what will my choice say about how I see myself—or how others see me?

It is here that the global meets the intimate. Diaspora Indians, scattered across 130 countries, already navigate layers of identity every day: accents, passports, skin colour, surnames. To have even a cheerful digital gesture framed as a racial declaration is a reminder of how deeply questions of inclusion and representation run. In South Africa, where apartheid’s racial categories still echo, even an emoji can reinforce social divisions. In the Caribbean, where Indo-Caribbean communities have mingled across generations with African, Chinese, and Indigenous populations, no single tone can capture lived reality. In Europe or North America, where race is sharply defined, the choice can mark one as “other” or “assimilated.”

For me, as an editor who has chronicled the diaspora for decades, this is telling. It reminds us that technology is not neutral. It carries assumptions—often Western ones—that may not align with the layered realities of Indian lives. A yellow, neutral hand might once have sufficed. But in trying to include, the digital platforms may also have created new burdens.

This reflection matters because our issue is otherwise filled with stories of progress and ambition. India has crossed 100 GW of solar capacity, becoming the world’s third-largest solar energy producer. Our semiconductor mission is finally moving from dream to delivery. Indian tourism is booming, set to double domestic travel by 2030 and welcome more global visitors than ever. From Ghana to the Philippines, Seychelles to the Maldives, India’s partnerships are reshaping regional futures. These are extraordinary achievements. They show a nation with confidence in its path and credibility in its commitments.

And yet, alongside these triumphs, the diaspora voices remind us of the unfinished work of identity and belonging. When we speak with leaders such as Seychelles’ High Commissioner Harisoa Lalatiana Accouche about ocean stewardship, or when we document diaspora contributions in New York, Trinidad, Dublin, or Reunion, we also hear concerns about representation, safety, and recognition. The diaspora is not just a source of remittances or soft power; it is a living archive of India’s complexity, constantly negotiating its place in a world that often reduces identity to categories.

The cover story on Numax Realcon captures another aspect of this connection. Real estate, for NRIs, is rarely just an investment. It is an emotional bridge, a way of rooting in the homeland while living abroad. It reflects the desire for continuity, even as daily realities may involve questions as subtle as “Which emoji skin tone shall I use today?”

And yet, as we balance these stories of achievement with the diaspora’s dilemmas, it is worth recalling the words of Gautam Adani at IIT Kharagpur earlier this year. He told students that the choice before young Indians was between salary and legacy, and that true independence today lies in self-reliance in semiconductors, defence, energy, and data. “One train takes you to a salary,” he said. “The other takes you to a legacy. Only one carries the pride of building Bharat.”

For the diaspora too, this reflection is not abstract. Identity is negotiated daily, sometimes in matters as small as an emoji, sometimes in matters as large as national policy. In both, the question remains: are we pursuing comfort, or contributing to legacy?

So this issue is both celebratory and contemplative. Celebratory, because India’s economic and diplomatic strides are real, tangible, and globally acknowledged. Contemplative, because progress measured only in megawatts, trade balances, or growth rates misses the quieter struggles of identity—whether lived on the streets of Dublin, in the classrooms of Durban, or in the digital spaces of WhatsApp and Instagram.

In the end, what unites these stories is the reminder that India’s journey—at home and abroad—is always about people. Their choices, their burdens, their resilience. Technology may one day learn to offer more inclusive ways of seeing. But until then, it is our task to keep listening, keep documenting, and keep reminding ourselves that inclusion must never become a burden.

That, for me, is the role of this magazine: to chronicle the aspirations and anxieties of a nation and its diaspora with honesty, empathy, and conviction.

Sayantan Chakravarty
sayantanc@gmail.com